


Doctor Husbands

by satb31



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 01:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1800376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satb31/pseuds/satb31
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A set of unrelated drabbles featuring Combeferre/Joly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Bedroom

When Joly and Combeferre moved in together, they knew it was going to be a challenge to merge their two households.

Combeferre was a pack rat, living in a rabbit warren of an apartment with books and papers and specimens and god knows what else cluttering up every corner of his tiny space. To an outsider, it looked like complete chaos, but Combeferre knew exactly where everything was at all times.

Joly, on the other hand, had been introduced to the concept of feng shui by Prouvaire (during one of his many forays into Chinese thought), and its emphasis on balance and positive energy made it a philosophy Joly embraced wholeheartedly. He consulted a feng shui expert and completely redid his apartment, clearing out all of the clutter and moving the furniture around to align it with the proper directions on the compass to maximize and balance the energy in his living quarters.

However, all of this was put to the test when the lease came up on Combeferre’s apartment, and Joly asked Combeferre to move in with him — after all, they were spending just about every night together anyway, so there was no need to maintain two apartments, and Joly had the larger space. He insisted on helping Combeferre pack, systematically helping him to dispose of old specimens that had started to smell, organizing his extensive book collection, and persuading him to give away the shabbiest parts of his wardrobe.

For the first week after the move, Combeferre managed to keep the chaos at bay, making sure he put everything back neatly after he used it. But it didn’t take long for the clutter to creep in — specimen jars appeared on the desk, and stacks of books started to pile up in corners of the bedroom. Joly was surprisingly sanguine about the whole situation — until it became evident that the disruption of his carefully calibrated decor was starting to alter his sleep patterns, which made for cranky mornings and lots of sleepless nights, wondering what that thing in that jar was, and whether it was responsible for his scratchy throat.

The situation finally came to a head one night when they came home from dinner, slightly inebriated and full of desire for each other. Combeferre pushed Joly onto the bed hungrily, where he landed on something hard — a very large bone.

"What the hell is this?" Joly asked, waving it at Combeferre.

Combeferre looked indignant. “It’s a femur, Joly. You went to medical school — you should know these things.”

Joly sat up. “Of course I knew that,” he scoffed. “But why is it in our bed?”

Combeferre shrugged, unable to offer an explanation that he knew would satisfy Joly.

That night, all of Combeferre’s collections and books were permanently moved out of the master bedroom and deposited into the second, smaller bedroom. In that room, Combeferre could putter and ponder — and Joly could keep the door closed, only venturing in if the stench got so bad it had wafted out into the living room.

And their bedroom remained perfectly clutter-free, their bed aligned with the compass points, and its purpose — for sleeping and other recreational pursuits — in tact. 

**

“Combeferre, I thought we had an understanding — no specimens in the bedroom,” Joly said a week later as he came up behind his boyfriend, placing his hands gently on Combeferre’s shoulders as he hunched over the desk in the corner of their room, an insect pinned to a board in front of him as he worked on a sketch.

“I’m almost done,” Combeferre assured him, not looking up as he kept sketching. “It’s a phasmid, you know — you don’t find very many of those around here.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Joly replied dryly, snatching the specimen away from Combeferre and ignoring his protests as he took the entire board into their second bedroom, which had been designated as the place where Combeferre could keep all of his books and other paraphernalia. “And I would prefer that I don’t find them in our bedroom, either,” he added when he returned.

“I guess I’ll just have to sketch it from memory then,” Combeferre said, looking so sheepish and disappointed that Joly wrapped his arms around him, kissing him lightly on the nose; “Maybe later,” Joly murmured as he steered his boyfriend toward the bed, hoping to give him even something more vivid he could sketch from memory.


	2. The Cat

When Joly and Combeferre moved in together they were able to merge their households without incident — they managed to find room for all of Combeferre’s books and Joly’s collection of kitchen gadgets, and began to settle into a period of domestic bliss.

There was only one problem: Joly’s cat.

Joly had acquired him as a seven week old kitten — a cream colored cat who was part Siamese and had the distinctive cry to prove it. Because he had attached to Joly from an early age, he was extremely possessive of Joly, sleeping curled up next to him under the covers every night.

Joly and Combeferre had always spent their nights together at Combeferre’s apartment, as it was closer to the university, so the cat did not realize there was a competitor for his affections until Combeferre moved in. On their first night together, when they fell into bed together after a long day of moving boxes and furniture, Combeferre turned over to kiss Joly and was greeted by a blood-curdling meow.

"What the hell was that?" Combeferre asked, recoiling as the cat shot out from under the covers as if he had been shot out of a cannon.

Joly shrugged. “He likes to cuddle with me under the covers.”

Combeferre got out of bed and closed the bedroom door. “Not anymore he doesn’t,” he said as he returned to bed, wrapping his body around Joly’s and quickly dozing off — only to be awakened at about two in the morning by a constant scratching at the door.

"Let him in," Joly said, half asleep. "It will be fine."

Combeferre grumbled, but he obeyed. The cat pranced inside, his tail swishing behind him, and hopped up on the bed, where he settled on Joly’s pillow and proceeded to make a nest in Joly’s hair. Combeferre chuckled to himself, and fell back asleep.

The next morning at dawn, he was awakened by the cat again — this time by the cat pawing him, looking for his breakfast. “That’s his job, not mine,” Combeferre muttered, rolling over.

But the cat persisted until Combeferre finally got out of bed and fed him — Joly was snoring away, completely oblivious.

"How do you not hear him yelling?" Combeferre asked him later that day.

"I just tune him out," Joly replied.

Combeferre shook his head and went about his day as best he could, given his lack of sleep, hoping the next night would be different.

It was not different.

The battle between Combeferre and the cat went on for almost two weeks, when he finally sought advice from Courfeyrac.

"The cat is jealous of you," Courfeyrac said. "So you need to distract him somehow. Find him a friend."

The next day, Combeferre and Joly went to the animal shelter, and picked out a second feline companion — a tiny tabby kitten. They brought the kitten home and gradually introduced her to Joly’s cat — who was immediately cowed by the energetic ball of fluff.

That night, the two cats chased each other around the house, finally collapsing in opposite corners of the house. The men’s bed was clearly a neutral zone in their battle, so Joly and Combeferre were able to sleep the entire night in peace.

But when the alarm went off at 6:00 am the next morning, Combeferre cracked open an eye to see not one pair of green eyes but two, each desperately wanting their breakfast.


	3. Swimming

Courfeyrac was hosting a pool party at his parents’ beach house. It was a brutally hot day, and even the ocean breezes did nothing to alleviate the heat, so every member of Les Amis had taken to the pool to cool off.

Everyone, that is, but Joly.

He sat on the edge of the water in just his swim trunks and a pair of sunglasses, dangling his feet in the water as he watched his friends frolic. Eventually Combeferre noticed his med school classmate sitting apart from the group and swam over to him.

“Come on in, Joly — the water’s perfect,” he said, adjusting his pink swim trunks and shaking the water out of his blond hair and scruffy beard.

Joly shook his head. “I told you, Combeferre — I don’t know how to swim,” he said petulantly, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

“You’re not going to drown, Joly,” Combeferre insisted.

Joly’s mouth formed a perfect pout. “How do you know?” he asked.

Combeferre sighed patiently, as he had become used to Joly’s various neuroses. “Because I will hold on to you the entire time, okay?”

Joly looked skeptical. “Promise?”

Combeferre held out his hand. “I solemnly swear I will not let you drown,” he said. “Just trust me, all right?”

“All right,” Joly agreed reluctantly. He screwed his eyes shut, then plunged into the water directly into Combeferre’s arms.

“Does Combeferre know Joly was on the swim team in high school?” Prouvaire murmured to Courfeyrac as they treaded water on the opposite side of the pool.

“Clearly not,” Courfeyrac said with a chuckle as he watched Joly wrap his long legs around Combeferre’s waist. “But I don’t plan to tell him, do you?”


	4. Pen and Paper

Combeferre was lying in his bed with his head on Joly’s shoulder, idly playing with the light dusting of hair on his bare chest. “I do believe I could lie here all day,” Combeferre said, nuzzling his lover’s neck.

“Then you should,” Joly replied, pressing a kiss to the top of Combeferre’s head. “Who is there to stop you? We do not have lectures this week.”

Combeferre propped his chin on Joly’s chest. “There is the matter of Enjolras, after all. I promised him a treatise by the end of the day tomorrow, and I have not yet begun to write it.”

Joly stroked his back. “Enjolras can wait, I believe. We have very pressing issues to deal with right here, do we not?” he asked, allowing his hand to wander below Combeferre’s waist.

Combeferre kissed him on the lips, then rolled away and began to fumble around on the floor for the shirt he had discarded earlier that day. “I am afraid I need to go to my writing desk, Joly. I wish it were not so, but the cause is paramount.”

Joly rolled over onto his stomach. “You know, if you bring your pen and paper here, I do believe I would make a more than adequate writing desk for you,” he said, looking at him coyly over his shoulder.

Combeferre laughed as he pulled his shirt over his head. “That is certainly true — you have a very solid body. That I know well.”

Joly nodded. “And can you think of any better inspiration to finish so we may get on to more amusing entertainments?”

Combeferre rose and collected his papers, his pen and his inkwell, and returned to the bed, placing a sheet of paper on Joly’s bare back and pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “I certainly cannot think of a better muse than you,” he murmured as he began to write.


End file.
